


From My Heart Flow

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkwardly Timed Erection, M/M, Misunderstandings, Poetry, That's become a common theme for me what would Freud say?, There's an open-mic night but apparently not a tag for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4003504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The crowd begins to murmur, and Harry wonders if he’s somehow stumbled into an open mic night. His eyes scan the room looking for instruments and musicians but there’s … well, not an acoustic guitar or keyboard in site. His question is answered when just a moment later, none other than the cute boy in the beanie with the blue eyes walks up to the mic, the journal he’d been scribbling in all afternoon clutched to his chest. And suddenly it clicks.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Louis’ a poet, Harry’s failing Econ, and sometimes all it takes is one poorly timed boner to ruin everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From My Heart Flow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stylinsoncity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylinsoncity/gifts).



> For the prompt: Harry is one of the most popular boys at their university. During Spring Break, instead of going away to party like usual, he stays on campus and meets Louis, the boy with only a few good friends and a love for poetry, not parties.
> 
> This was a lot of fun to write and I really hope it's not too far off of what you had in mind!

Fuck. Harry knows. He just _knows_ that his spring break plans are likely taking a nosedive right in front of his eyes as soon as he sees the tiny ‘Come see me after class’ scrawled across the top of his paper. He swallows the feeling of dread that bubbles up in his stomach, waiting for the rest of his class to file out before approaching his professor.

Just based on the half-pitying/half-chastising look she’s already got on her face, he knows it’s not going to be good.

“Mr. Styles, yes?”

Harry nods, trying to control the frantic pace of his heartbeat. He’s supposed to leave for Fiji in _three hours_. His plans up until the past couple of minutes had been to grab a burrito on the way to Nick’s house and then they’d head off to the airport together. Extravagant vacations every spring break had kind of been their thing since they’d first met during frosh first year. Nick’s probably already trying on his plane clothes and putting on his pre-flight hydrating face mask.

He’s snapped out of the mental image of Nick with cucumber slices over his eyes when his Professor gently but firmly pulls his paper out of his hands, her eyes immediately landing on the bright red 32%.

His stomach clenches.

“So this?” she begins slowly. “This is a problem.”

He swallows.

“I know.”

“Do you though? Because as far as I can tell, you’ve barely been scraping by this entire semester. You do know that this paper has a weight of 30%, yes?”

No, actually, Harry didn’t know that as he’d never bothered to actually read the syllabus but he nods anyhow. It doesn’t do a thing to lessen the severe pursing of her lips.

“Well in that case, I’m sure you’re completely aware of the fact that the final exam for this class is to be held two days after Spring Break. And that unless you get a _minimum_ of 90% on it you’ll fail the course.”

Well fuck.

“Um, but, I show up most weeks -”

“I’m afraid _most_ weeks isn’t good enough. I suggest you sit down and think about your plans for the next couple of days, because if you don’t pass this course, you’ll have to redo it.”

“But I’m graduating this year.” Harry chokes out, the severity of the situation hitting him all at once and making him feel like his insides are being clawed out.

“Not if you fail this course, you aren’t.”

Harry can feel his eyes start getting wet and he’s overcome with humiliation. How did he let it get to this point?

“I need a 90?” He asks, trying his best not to let his devastation show in his voice. She nods.

“You’re smart, Mr. Styles, and I’ve seen what you can do when you apply yourself. I have no doubt you can do this. You just need to _try_.“

Harry nods. “I can. I will. I promise.”

His professor smiles a bit sadly. “It’s not me you need to be making that promise to.”

She hands him back his paper. He takes it with a resigned sigh and tries not to think about the fit Nick is going to throw when he tells him he has to bail on Fiji.

Oh well, it’s nothing a few days in the sun and some pina coladas won’t fix. Harry’s got bigger things to worry about right now than pissing off his best friend.

Like potentially failing out of school. And then having to tell his parents.

Fuck.

 

***

 

After the fourth cry of ‘shots!’ followed by the loud thumping bass booming through the ceiling from the apartment above him, Harry decides that his room probably isn’t the best place to study over spring break.

Just because he’s in an academic hell of his own making doesn’t mean everyone else is. He’s only a little bit bitter that the people on the floor above him are getting plastered at …. seriously, 11:30 am? Harry checks his watch before rolling his eyes and packing up his books.

He vaguely remembers seeing a quaint looking coffee shop tucked away on the far side of campus and decides to try his luck there. Anything has to be better than the episode of _Girls’ Gone Wild_ being recreated in the apartment upstairs.

He hears one very loud, very distinct moan and throws his things together in a panic before escaping.

 

***

 

The coffee shop is cute is the thing, but more importantly than that, it’s blissfully quiet. He doesn’t know if it’s always like that or if it’s because their campus is completely abandoned for spring break, but he actually makes it through 30 pages of his notes before the sound of the door chime distracts him.

He glances up from his book to see probably the prettiest boy to ever exist, closely followed by an also eerily attractive guy with his arm slung casually around the first boy’s shoulders.

Harry tries his best not to be creepy with his staring, but it’s kind of difficult when faced with two almost painfully attractive people. The first boy - _blue eyes_ \- gives the second boy a quick hug before walking over to a tiny table in the corner of the room. He’s wearing a baggy sweater and a beanie and Harry is overwhelmed by the weird and inappropriate urge to cuddle him. Right, definitely time to look back at his study notes.

He makes it another fifteen pages when he hears the sound of a throat clearing and looks up to see the second boy (the one with the gorgeous golden brown eyes, the dark hair and the cheekbones) holding a coffee pot.

“You want a refill on that?” He asks, his voice softer than Harry would have expected. Harry nods, his eyes catching on the boy’s - _Zayn_ \- nametag. Before he can get out more than a thank you, Zayn’s off towards blue eyes’ table, his demeanor instantly fonder.

Harry tries not to pay them too much attention as he is actually supposed to be studying (the mere thought of his encounter with his prof fills his stomach with ice), but he can’t help but notice that Zayn pops over every half hour or so to check in on the other boy before going back to work behind the counter.

Harry winds up staying for the entire afternoon, his attention focused mostly on studying his notes with the occasional peek over at blue eyes’ table. Speaking of which, Harry closes his book, finally ready to call it a night on the academic front when he notices the other boy is gone, the table he sat at all afternoon empty but for a wilting muffin wrapper and a balled up napkin.

Harry hardly has time to wonder where he could have disappeared to when the lights in the front of the cafe dim. A small crowd has started to gather on the other side of the room (Harry’s not actually sure how he managed to miss all of this happening around him but he figures his prof would be proud of his dedication to his studies) where Zayn and another guy with dyed blonde hair are setting up a mic stand.

Harry watches curiously as the music in the cafe suddenly goes silent, the track cutting out in the middle of the chorus. The crowd begins to murmur, and Harry wonders if he’s somehow stumbled into an open mic night. His eyes scan the room looking for instruments and musicians but there’s … well, not an acoustic guitar or keyboard in site. His question is answered when just a moment later, none other than the cute boy in the beanie with the blue eyes walks up to the mic, the journal he’d been scribbling in all afternoon clutched to his chest. And suddenly it clicks.

“Hi,” the boy begins, and his voice makes Harry want to melt. “My name is Louis and this is the first poem I’ve written in a while so I’m a bit anxious but I hope you like it. This is _Spaces_.”

He looks nervous, his eyes darting around the crowd warily, but as soon as he starts to speak Harry hears the quiet confidence behind his words as he starts reciting the poem he must have been working on all afternoon.

 

_Who's gonna be the first one to start the fight?_

_Who's gonna be the first one to fall asleep at night?_

_Who's gonna be the last one drive away?_

_Who's gonna be the last one to forget this place?_

_We keep taking turns_

_Will we ever learn?_

_Spaces between us keep getting deeper_

_It's harder to reach ya even though I try_

_Spaces between us hold all our secrets_

_Leaving us speechless and I don't know why_

_Who's gonna be the first to say goodbye?_

 

When he finishes the last verse, the room is eerily silent before everyone bursts into applause. Louis blushes but doesn’t look down, smiling at the crowd and taking an adorable bow before jumping off stage and running into Zayn’s waiting arms. The blonde boy and another guy who works with them (Harry’s pretty sure his name is Liam and that they had a class together the previous semester) join in after a second, and Harry feels a weird sort of jealousy bubble up in his chest. He wants that.

Someone else has already taken the stage but Harry blocks them out. He wants to talk to Louis, to tell him how incredible his poem was, how heartfelt every word was. He just doesn’t know how.

Well, he thinks to himself, at least he has more than one reason to come back to the coffee shop now.

 

***

 

Harry shows up again the next morning armed with his laptop, his notebook, and the burning desire to find out more about Louis.

He parks himself at the same table as the day before, but this time at the other side of the table so he has a better view of the rest of the shop (also, the outlet is more accessible which is always a bonus).

Sure enough, the door swings open after Harry’s already downed two cups of coffee and a blueberry scone. Harry’s in the middle of reading over a particularly riveting sentence about Laissez-faire economics when he catches a head of soft, tousled hair moving towards one of the tables out of the corner of his eye. Harry sneaks a quick peek to confirm that yes, it is Louis, and yes, he’s absolutely 100% as cute as Harry remembered.

Louis pulls out the same leather bound notebook he’d been poring over the day before, staring intently at one of the pages before pulling out a pen and aggressively crossing things out. Harry tries not to stare too openly (he’s already caught Louis’ friend Zayn watching him suspiciously) but it’s difficult to tear his eyes away. Even when he’s not doing much of anything, Louis is magnetic.

Harry eventually does manage to turn back to his laptop (the warning voice of his professor still bouncing around the inside of his brain), and he doesn’t pay Louis any mind until he hears a quiet gasp and the sound of ceramic smashing on the hardwood floor.

Harry looks up just in time to see Louis jumping up from his table in a panic, his pants and the table in front of him covered in tea. No, not just the table. His notebook too.

Before Harry can even think about what he’s doing, he grabs his sweatshirt from his bag and rushes over to Louis’ table, using the material to soak up as much tea from his journal as possible. The leather exterior is bound to be stained, there’s not much he can do about that, but he can at least soak up enough of the tea to preserve the words inside.

Harry actually manages to mop up most of it, his attention completely dedicated to the task at hand until he sees rather than feels a hesitant hand on his forearm in his peripheral vision. He slowly stops what he’s doing, turning to face a pair of stunned blue eyes.

“I, um …” Harry starts, awkward as anything, but lucky for him Louis seems slightly more composed.

“Your sweater’s ruined,” Louis murmurs, still looking like he’s in shock. Harry shrugs like it’s not a big deal (it’s really not. He’s pretty sure he stole the sweater from Nick to begin with.)

“I can get another one,” Harry says, both because it’s true and he has no idea what else to say. He’s weirdly kind of embarrassed but mostly ecstatic to finally be talking to this boy. Seriously, though, whose eyes are that _blue_?

Louis blinks at him before reaching for his wallet, and it takes Harry a second to realize that he must think Harry wants him to buy him another one. He lets out a horrified kind of huff before pushing Louis’ hand away.

“No, I just meant, like. It’s just a stupid sweater. Really. Your words are far more important.” Harry’s pretty sure he’s never said anything as pathetically cliche sounding as that in his life, but, like, it’s true. From what he’d heard the night before, he is solidly convinced of Louis’ brilliance.

Louis flushes bright pink at the sincerity in Harry’s tone and looks down at his hands. “Well, um, thank you. For sacrificing your sweater and, um, helping me.”

He looks up again shyly. “I’m an idiot who doesn’t keep a digital backup of anything. There’s stuff in there I’ve been working on for months and I probably would have cried if I’d lost it.” He smiles a bit awkwardly. “Never thought I’d have to worry about accidentally sabotaging myself with tea.”

Harry laughs at the unexpected joke, Louis’ eyes crinkling in response. “Well, I’m glad my sweater could be of service then.”

Not wanting to overstay his welcome, Harry smiles and nods quickly before turning to head back towards his table.

“Wait,” comes Louis’ voice, and Harry can already feel a tiny smile forming on his face. He does his best to suppress it before turning back around.

“Can I at least buy you a coffee? You know, to say thank you properly and all that.”

Harry pretends to mull it over before nodding. “As long as you won’t judge me for adding four sugars.”

Louis looks appalled but wisely doesn’t comment. Harry definitely doesn’t miss him muttering to himself about how tea is clearly the superior drink anyhow.

Harry can’t help but tease him a bit. “I’m sorry, what beverage was it that spilled all over your journal again?”

Louis rolls his eyes but Harry can sense the amusement behind it. “Whatever. One cup of _coffee_ with six sugars it is.”

“Four!” Harry calls after him, but Louis pointedly ignores him, laughing quietly to himself as he walks up to the counter and orders.

 

***

 

Harry learns a lot about Louis that afternoon. He finds out that he’s from a spectacularly large family (‘ _Six siblings? Seriously? And you’re sure you’re not a Quaker?_ ’) and that Louis’ majoring in English on scholarship because his family couldn’t afford the tuition fees without some major help. Louis tells him that his dream is to be published by one of the major publishing houses on the east coast and to inspire other people like the poets he grew up reading inspired him.

“I want my words to mean something to other people. I don’t want to just write something because it’ll make money, or get published. Poetry got me through some really tough times in my life, and I want to be able to pay it forward.”

Harry can’t do much but nod, dumbstruck and moved by Louis’ passion. He wonders what it’s like to care so much about what you’re studying, not that he’d ever know. Going into Economics hadn’t exactly been his dream (or his decision).

“I heard your poem yesterday. It was incredible,” Harry admits, trying to fight back the blush heating up his cheeks. He looks up to see Louis facing a similar predicament.

Louis bites his lip, evidently pleased but also unsure of how to take the compliment. “Thanks. It was one of the more, uh, personal ones in my collection.”

Harry gives him a questioning look in lieu of outright asking. He doesn’t want to push Louis or make him uncomfortable. Louis shrugs.

“So like, I was dating this guy a few months ago. Everything was great, we had so much fun together, he was so charming, had everyone wrapped around his little finger, and he genuinely seemed to care about me a lot.” Louis sighs and Harry braces himself. “And then he found out his family would be coming up to visit.”

“He tells me that even though he’s not in the closet, he’s still not exactly out to his family, so can we pretend to just be friends? Fine, whatever, I get it. But then I never actually get to meet his family. Or, you know, see him at all. He keeps making excuses, saying that it’d be weird for him to introduce me as a friend and that he’d call me when he could. One week later, they’ve all gone back to Idaho or wherever it is they live and he texts me asking if we can talk.”

Harry can already tell this story isn’t going to end well but he braces himself for the fallout anyhow. Louis frowns, picking at one of the empty sugar packets on the table. “He says that he’s done some thinking and he’s not actually sure he’s gay after all. He says he thinks he was confused, that he wanted to try something new. I was just a phase, apparently.”

Harry kind of wants to find this guy and shove him out a window, but that’s neither here nor there. Besides, it’s obvious Louis’ not done and there’s even more to the story.

“So we break up. Three days later I find out he’s back with his ex-girlfriend. He didn’t even have the balls to tell me, the asshole. I found out through Facebook.” Louis sighs again and Harry wants to pull him into his arms and tell him how wonderful he already thinks he is. He doesn’t, because obviously. Zayn would really have a reason to glare at him then.

So instead he settles for bumping his hand gently against Louis’ on the table and giving him a soft smile. “I’m sorry that happened to you, but I hope you’re incredibly proud of yourself for the poem that came out of that.”

Louis looks down again, but Harry can see the corners of his mouth are turned up in a tiny grin.

“Thank you, Harry.” He looks up to meet Harry’s eyes and there’s a hint of lingering pink on his cheeks. He doesn’t give Harry much of a chance to bask in having made him blush, though - he immediately turns the tables.

“So what about you? Any humiliating past experiences that you tried to mold into art?” His tone is mostly tongue in cheek, but there’s a curiosity in his eyes that Harry finds intriguing. He shrugs.

“Not exactly. I’m not really, um … let’s just say poetry isn’t my forte. I play guitar and scribble down lyrics and stuff but it’s never anything profound.” Harry can feel his face starting to heat up, surprised by how mundane his life sounds when he actually tries to put it in words. It’s no surprise that his parents have money (just like Nick and the others in their friend group) but when he takes that out of the equation (it’s not exactly his money after all) it leaves him with alarmingly little to talk about.

“So what made you choose to study,” Louis pauses, his eyebrows furrowing adorably as he thinks. “Economics, you said, right?”

“My, uh … My grandfather went to school here. Then my dad did too, when he was old enough. I’m sort of, like … a legacy, I guess? I didn’t really choose to come here. It was, well, predetermined.” 

Louis gives him a look he can’t read. “Is that what you’d pick to study if your family didn’t have a say?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. I guess, um,” he fiddles with the button on his shirt. “I guess I wouldn’t have gone to school at all. I’ve always wanted to try music, but I knew it was never going to happen, so …”

He trails off, feeling incredibly awkward and weirdly raw. He doesn’t like it. Louis seems to take up the hint, thankfully.

“My mom always said that it doesn’t really matter what you study in undergrad. At the end of the day, it’s just having the degree that matters.” He pauses, taking a bite of a cookie. “Did you know that most people who graduate with a college degree don’t even end up working in the field they studied?”

Harry didn’t know that, actually, and he feels weirdly comforted by the fact. Based on the satisfied smile on Louis’ face, he thinks it must show.

The conversation mercifully moves on to lighter things, with Harry finding himself smiling wider and more often than he can remember doing ever. Louis, for his part, has a permanent grin plastered on his face, and Harry finds himself utterly captivated by the tiny giggles he lets out whenever Harry says something funny.

Of course, their pseudo-date (though Harry would never dare refer to it like that out loud) has to end at some point. Louis’ friend Zayn winds up being the one to do the honours, interrupting them five minutes before the end of his shift to tell Louis he’s about ready to leave.

Louis looks stunned. “Holy shit, how’s it already 8?” He looks to Harry as though he’ll miraculously have the answers. “I feel like we just got here.”

Zayn shrugs before Harry has a chance to answer. “You’re still coming back with me, right?”

Louis nods, grabbing his stuff. “Yeah, come grab me when you’re ready to go.” Zayn nods, satisfied, and Louis turns to Harry.

“It was really nice meeting you, Harry, seriously.”

Harry grins at him, his heart hammering at the thought of parting without at least getting his number.

“You too. I’m glad my sweater could be of assistance.”

Louis flushes, his eyes going to the faint tea stain on the cover of his journal. “You really did save my ass. I would have had a full blown panic attack if I’d lost my poems.”

Harry smiles softly, looking down. “Happy to help.”

Louis looks like he wants to say something else, but Zayn appears, dressed in his normal clothes and looking devastatingly handsome.

“Come on, Lou, don’t wanna miss the bus.”

Louis’ eyes widen and he nods quickly, turning to Harry.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” he asks, his eyes locking onto Harry’s. Harry nods, not really having time to say much else before Zayn is tugging Louis towards the door.

Louis gives him one last look before he pushes the door open, fading out of view.

 

***

 

‘Around’ winds up being two days later. Harry, already sick of staring at his notes, desperately needs a break and decides to check facebook to see if there are any parties going on. He genuinely can’t think of anything more appealing than a giant bottle of vodka and endless Nicki Minaj remixes to get hammered to.

Lucky for him, there’s a house party being thrown a block away from his building. Even luckier, Harry thinks to himself as he scrolls through the list of people invited, it looks like Louis might be there as well.

Harry settles on a pair of tight black skinny jeans, his signature brown chelsea boots and a silky cream colour button up that, he discovers after he’s already left his apartment and stepped out into the brisk March air, make his nipples stand out suggestively. Great. Harry shakes his head, hoping Louis’ into that kind of thing.

The party is already in full swing by the time Harry makes it inside. He’s only just grabbed himself a drink when he sees a familiar looking figure out of the corner of his eye. He turns to see Louis dancing with Zayn, both of them laughing about something or other. Zayn looks smoking hot (as per usual), but it’s Louis that really knocks the breath out of him. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans so tight they must be jeggings and a v-neck black t-shirt that shows off his collarbones (as well as the most endearing little patch of chest hair Harry’s ever seen).

Harry waits for the song to end before approaching them. Louis’ got his arm draped around Zayn’s shoulders, his eyes fluttering shut like all that dancing has taken a lot out of him. Zayn stiffens when he sees Harry, causing Louis’ eyes to jerk open.

“Harry!” He exclaims, and the slight slur in his words tips Harry off that he’s probably been there for a while.

“Hey Louis. Nice seeing you here.”

Louis grins, his eyes sparkling even despite his obvious tipsiness. “Nice. You know what else is nice?”

Harry shakes his head. Louis grins and points at him.

“You. You’re nice. You ruined your sweater for me.”

Harry laughs. “You’re pretty nice too, Lou.”

He knows logically that they’re definitely not at the nickname stage yet but it just sort of comes out. Louis either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, though, so Harry can’t find the energy to be too embarrassed.

Zayn whispers something to Louis before heading over to the drinks table, leaving the two of them alone.

A new song starts playing and Louis looks at him with a question in his eyes. “Dance with me?”

Harry nods, setting his bottle down on a coffee table and pulling Louis towards him.

 

***

 

Harry spends the better part of an hour with Louis plastered to his front. Louis slowly sobers up, which is both good and bad (bad, mainly because it means Harry has to try even harder to fight his burgeoning erection. He’s fairly certain sober Louis is far more likely to notice than drunk Louis is.)

On the bright side, sober Louis doesn’t seem to be regretting his decision to dance with Harry. If anything, his movements have grown more assured, and Harry kind of really wants to kiss him. The song changes to something especially dirty and Louis responds by grinding sensually against Harry.

Louis gives a look over his shoulder, his expression cheeky but his eyes still clouded with uncertainty as if maybe he’s gone too far. Harry responds by pulling Louis closer to him and running his hands down his stomach.

Louis lets out a soft groan that Harry’s only able to hear because of how closely they’re pressed together, and he can feel his dick stirring in his pants. He forces himself to take a bit of a step back, hoping he can calm the little guy down before Louis notices, but Louis freezes in his arms instead.

He turns around, looking confused and a bit hurt. Harry’s stomach drops when he realizes how that must have seemed to Louis - like he’d heard his groan and immediately rejected him. Harry opens his mouth, desperate to explain, but a girl Harry vaguely recognizes from his Econ class strides over to him, deliberately stepping in front of Louis like he’s not even there.

“Harry,” she purrs, running a hand down his arm towards his waist. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Harry nods and politely tries to pull his arm away, but she doesn’t get the memo, choosing instead to tighten her grip. She leans forward to whisper something in his ear, pressing her body against his. “You look so hot right now.”

Harry’s mouth drops open a bit at her boldness (though, to be fair, she seems really drunk).

He looks up to Louis for help and the girl notices, giving Louis an unimpressed once over before turning back to Harry. “Why don’t you tell your friend to go make himself a drink.”

Harry opens his mouth to tell her off, but she clearly misinterprets his actions, moving to drape herself over his side and leaning close to whisper in his ear again. “He’s kind of a cock block.”

Harry looks at her, appalled, before firmly pushing her away. “I’m pretty sure the only cockblock here is you.”

He turns to Louis, intent on apologizing profusely for her behaviour, but the spot where he was standing is empty.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, pushing forward through the crowd as he searches everywhere for him. There’s no way he can have gotten that far.

He makes it out of the living room just in time to see the front door slam shut across the hallway. He runs over, avoiding the people drunkenly stumbling by him as best he can before finally wrenching the door open.

But it’s too late. Louis’ already gone.

 

***

 

Harry makes sure to be at the cafe bright and early the next morning. So bright and early, in fact, that it’s not even open yet. In his overeagerness to talk to Louis, he might have maybe forgotten to check the hours on their website.

He pulls out his phone and lets out a sigh of relief when he discovers they should be opening in 15.

Fifteen minutes. He can totally do that.

He leans against the wall and taps on his app folder.

He’s lost himself in a mindless game of Solitaire when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He jerked out of his trance, stumbling a bit as he stands up straight.

A blonde boy he recognizes from the first night he’d been to the cafe is giving him an odd look. “You okay?”

Harry nods, only slightly embarrassed. “Fine. Just, uh, couldn’t wait to get studying,” he lies, gesturing to his books.

The boy shrugs but lets him in anyhow, immediately going to pull the chairs down from the tables. Harry goes to help him.

“Must suck, having the opening shift on a Friday.” Harry starts, attempting to make small talk. The guy shrugs.

“It’s not too bad, mostly. I was kind of bummed out because I had to miss a party I’d really wanted to go to but … ” he trails off, pulling down the last chair before moving behind the counter and pulling on an apron.

“Ed’s party?”

The blonde guy nods. Harry really needs to learn his name so he can stop referring to him as ‘blonde guy’ in his head. “Yeah, you know him?”

“Yup, he’s an old friend from first year. He used to smuggle weed into the dorms and we’d stay up til like 3 getting high and playing the guitar.”

The blonde guy laughs, and Harry finally gets a look at his nametag. _Niall_. Progress.

“Yeah, sounds like Ed,” Niall agrees, wiping his hands down on his apron before setting up the till. “Two of my best friends were there too, actually, you might know them. Zayn and Louis?”

Harry tries not to let his eyes light up too visibly. “Yeah, Louis’ pretty great.”

Obviously he fails. Niall gives him a curious look, and Harry’s not sure whether he should be impressed with Niall’s deductive skills or horrified by his own lack of a poker face.

“Sure is,” Niall finally says, his tone light but not giving anything away either.

“Do you think he might drop in today?” Harry asks, setting up his own stuff at the table so it looks like he’s busy and not just being a stalker. Rather than responding, Niall stays silent. Harry turns to look at him, only to meet a blank expression.

“I think Zayn might’ve mentioned you,” Niall finally says, his face closed off.

“Oh?” Harry asks, already dreading what horrible things he might have told him. Niall keeps staring him down, the weight of his gaze heavy.

“Just be careful, yeah?” he finally says. Harry nods.

“I just… there was a misunderstanding, last night, and I feel awful about it.” Harry pauses, knowing he’s pleading and it’s not a particularly good look for him but also not finding it within himself to care. “I just want to talk to him.”

Niall looks down, sorting through the money in the register and not saying anything for a long moment.

“I don’t know if he’s coming in today. Based on what Zayn told me, probably not.”

Harry feels his heart drop.

“But,” Niall continues. “It’s worth a shot. And for the record, I can tell you mean it. I won’t get in your way.”

Harry nods, grateful, and decides that now that he’s here, he may as well settle in and get some work done.

He orders a latte and a blueberry scone and hopes that, if nothing else, his grades will drastically improve as a result of being at the cafe so often.

 

***

 

The thing is, Harry’s quite charming, even when he doesn’t mean to be, so by the end of the morning, he and Niall are pretty much friends.

Niall’s doubled over the counter, cackling hysterically at a story Harry told him about the time he and Nick almost got arrested for accidental trespassing when they hear the bell over the door.

Harry turns just in time to see Zayn entering (alone), his eyes sweeping over the room and growing noticeably colder as they land on Harry. He tries not to take it too personally.

“Z, hey. I didn’t know you had a shift today.” Niall says, greeting him with a grin.

“I don’t.” he responds, his voice monotone. Niall’s smile dims.

“Just couldn’t stay away from the baked goods, could you?” he jokes, but Zayn’s not really having it.

“We both know why I’m here. Do you mind giving us a couple of minutes?” Zayn asks. Niall looks between him and Harry, as if checking to see if they’ll be okay alone. Harry gives him a small (somewhat terrified) smile and Niall finally lets his guard down enough to grant Zayn’s request.

“Yeah, just, uh, shout if you need me I guess.” Zayn nods, but his focus is entirely on Harry.

Harry can feel the tension in the air as Zayn approaches his table and he can’t deny that he’s nervous. In fact, he’s pretty sure his hands are sweating enough to fill a small tupperware container. Harry opens his mouth to say something (he’s not even sure what) but Zayn beats him to it.

“So about the party last night -”

Harry blinks. “Yeah.”

Zayn gives him a long look. “Louis just left, didn’t even tell me he was going. He was pretty fucked up about whatever happened between you two.”

Harry feels his heart break just a little bit. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Zayn narrows his eyes. “Yeah, that’s not good enough.”

Harry gives him a desperate look. “I don’t know how much Louis told you, but I promise, it’s not what he thinks.”

“So you’re telling me you didn’t push him away after leading him on all night and then let some girl start grinding up all over you right in front of his face?”

Harry rakes a hand over his face. “I didn’t push him away because I wasn’t interested. It was the opposite, actually.”

Zayn frowns at him.

“I was _too_ interested, if you know what I mean, and I didn’t want to freak him out.”

Zayn’s eyes widen with understanding.

“And about the girl. What she said and how she made Louis feel were totally unacceptable. It just sort of shocked me, how blatantly awful she was being, and it took me a second to react.”

Zayn nods his head slowly but looks marginally less like he’s going to punch Harry in the face.

“Look, I don’t know how much Louis told you, but he’s been through a lot with guys he was seeing in the past. I can’t even count the number of times he’s called me crying because yet another boy he was sort of seeing got freaked out by the thought of _actually_ being with a guy and ended things.”

Harry bites down on his lip, fiercely regretting how everything had played out the night before.

“I’m not like that, I swear it was a misunderstanding. I like him a lot, Zayn.”

Zayn sighs. “Then you have to prove it to him. Show him you’re not afraid or ashamed to be with him.”

Harry stares at Zayn imploringly. “How?”

“That’s your problem to solve.” Zayn’s phone beeps and he looks at the screen before cursing. “Fuck, I’ve already been here too long.” He meets Harry’s eyes. “I’m not going to tell you how to fix it. But I will tell you that Louis’ performing a new piece at the next open mic night on Sunday.”

He gives Harry a pointed look before moving towards the exit. “Just don’t fuck it up.”

Despite Zayn’s vaguely threatening parting words, Harry feels lighter than he has since the previous night.

He can fix this.

 

***

 

By the time Niall gives him a gentle poke on the shoulder four hours later, Harry’s pretty sure he’s read more about poetry than he has textbooks for his actual major. His eyes are starting to water from squinting at the screen for so long, which must be why Niall takes pity on him and places a cardboard cup of something warm and sweet smelling in front of him.

“Tea. With honey and lemon.”

Harry opens his mouth, but Niall cuts him off. “Just take it. You looked like you needed it.”

Harry closes his mouth firmly, the warm citrusy smell of the lemon calling to him.

“Thank you.” He says gratefully before taking a sip and discovering what it’s like to feel like a human being again.

“So,” Niall prods, sliding into the seat across from him. “What’s got you so focused? Finals?”

Harry takes another sip before answering, the warm liquid burning his tongue on the way down.

“Not exactly.” He turns his laptop screen to face Niall, whose eyes widen as he squints at the tiny text. “Jesus, whoever designed this page needs some lessons on basic graphic design. Like, make sure your visitors can actually read the text.”

Harry gives him a sympathetic look. “Yeah, it seems haikus and internet savvy don’t necessarily go together.”

Niall looks up, his eyebrows pulling together. “Louis?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. Zayn said he’d be performing again at the next open mic night.”

“Yeah, he never misses them.” Niall agrees, his tone light but his eyes still clouded with suspicion.

Harry gives him a long look, mulling over whether what he’s about to ask is a good idea. He goes for it anyway.

“Niall, how much do you know about slant rhyme?”

 

***

 

Harry’s pretty sure he’s never been this nervous before in his life. Sure, he’s done a lot of stuff that others might consider brave or daring, but it’s never been this personal before. He’s never had a real reason to fear failure.

He’d arrived at the cafe half an hour ago when the room was still being set up. He’d ended up helping Niall prep the sound system, too nervous to just sit there and wait.

Now the first person is already getting up to speak and there’s still no sign of Louis. Harry hadn’t even considered the thought that Louis might not show up. To think that he might have inadvertently hurt him badly enough that he’d skip open mic night (for apparently the first time ever) makes Harry want to bang his head against a wall.

He shoots Niall a desperate look, but Niall seems to be just as clueless as he is. The stage lights dim as the first person gets ready to go up, and Harry wants to cry. This can’t be happening. Louis can’t not be there.

As if responding directly to his pleas, the little bell above the door chimes as the boy in question hurries in, doing his best not to distract everyone from the person at the mic. Louis doesn’t even spare anyone a look, rushing immediately over to the counter and ducking behind it to leave his coat and bag when he sees there aren’t any empty tables left.

The girl on stage looks white as a sheet, but she manages to power through her poem without too much visible shaking.

It isn’t until she recites the final stanza that her lower lip trembles and she dramatically bursts into tears.  Louis and Niall’s other friend Liam steps forward to MC, awkwardly putting his arm around her shoulder in what Harry assumes is supposed to be a comforting embrace but just makes the girl cry harder.

“Well that was an interesting way to start off the night. Thank you for sharing that with us, love.” Liam tries to keep his voice light, but Harry can tell he’s supremely uncomfortable. He gestures at Niall before carefully helping the girl offstage and into the waiting arms of her friends.

“Alright then.” Niall starts, taking the mic over from Liam. “Next up we have an old favourite. Please welcome Louis Tomlinson!”

The (admittedly small) crowd goes wild as Louis takes the stage, most of his hair hidden under his signature beanie. The circles under his eyes are even more pronounced under the stage lights. He looks so small and sad.

“This is _Fool’s Gold_ ,” he says without further adieu. Even his voice sounds tired.

 

_I'm the first to admit that I'm reckless_

_I get lost in your beauty and I can't see_

_Two feet in front of me_

_And I know in my heart_

_You're just a moving part_

_And, yeah, I let you use me from the day that we first met_

_But I'm not done yet_

_Falling for your fool's gold_

_And I knew that you turned it on for everyone you met_

_But I don't regret_

_Falling for your fool's gold_

_Yeah, I know your love's not real_

_That's not the way it feels_

_That's not the way you feel_

 

The room is entirely silent when he finishes, like everyone’s been simultaneously punched in the stomach with raw emotion. Harry’s never felt worse in his life.

Louis still has yet to notice him, his eyes downcast throughout his performance. It’s only when he starts walking off stage that he takes in his surroundings, his blue eyes landing on Harry and widening in panic.

He looks like he’s going to bolt. Harry can’t let that happen.

Before Liam can announce the next person, Harry runs up onstage and grabs the mic. Everyone gasps.

“Hi,” he starts in a rush. “My name is Harry Styles and I wrote this for someone that I’ve grown to care about a lot in the short period of time I’ve been lucky enough to know him. This is _Ready to Run_.”

Before he can second guess himself, Harry launches into the poem he’d spent the last 48 hours crafting and perfecting until he couldn’t even feel his fingers anymore.

He’s never been so proud and so simultaneously terrified but he knows this is it. He has to show Louis how much he already means to him.  

 

_There's a lightning in your eyes, I can't deny_

_Then there's me inside a sinking boat running out of time_

 

He watches Louis freeze by the door, turning to look at Harry with wide eyes.

Harry takes a deep breath and keeps going.

 

_Without you I'll never make it out alive_

_But I know, yes I know, we'll be alright_

 

_This time I'm ready to run_

_Escape from the city and follow the sun_

_'Cause I wanna be yours, don't you wanna be mine?_

_I don't wanna get lost in the dark of the night_

_This time I'm ready to run_

_Wherever you are is the place I belong_

_'Cause I wanna be free, and I wanna be young_

_I will never look back now I'm ready to run_

_I'm ready to run_

 

Louis hasn’t moved. He looks paralyzed, his eyes locked on Harry’s as he delivers the final line.

The applause from the crowd startles them both and severs the connection, but Harry can still feel Louis watching him from across the room as he bows quickly before getting off stage.

He can see some people he vaguely recognizes coming towards him out of the corner of his eye but he pushes forward, determined to get to Louis.

When he finally stops in front of him, he realizes he has no idea what to say. He’s used all his words. He settles for something simple.

“Hi.”

Louis looks like he’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Hi.”

There’s another moment of loaded silence and then -

_“I can’t believe -”_

_“I’m sorry -”_

They both stop talking abruptly and Louis shoots Harry a shy smile. “You go first.”

Harry bites the inside of his cheek. “I just wanted to say I’m so sorry. What happened at Ed’s party was one awful thing after another and I just ... I would never want you to think I was leading you on, or that I’d push you aside like that. I wouldn’t do that.”

Harry’s never claimed to be a particularly eloquent speaker, but it’s obvious that his sincerity gets across. Louis nods.

“I know.” He says, blushing. “I talked to Zayn after he spoke with you.”

“Oh.”

Louis nods. “Yeah. He said you seemed really upset about it, and that maybe I’d panicked and reacted too quickly.”

Louis looks like he wants to say more, so Harry stays silent. “But then that girl was so rude, and you pushed me away before, I know you did.” He looks up with watery eyes, and he doesn’t sound angry. Just hurt. And very very confused.

Harry gives him a sad smile. “I wasn’t pushing you away because I didn’t want you. I wanted you too much, if anything, and I was scared it would freak you out. I’m so sorry I made you think I wasn’t interested, Louis, but I promise you, it’s the exact opposite. I like you a lot.” Harry pauses. “Probably more than I should after only knowing each other a week.”

Louis grins, and it transforms his whole face. “I can’t blame you. Zayn says I am very likeable.”

Harry snorts. “And humble, too.”

Louis honest-to-god giggles and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever heard a happier sound.

“You wrote me a poem,” Louis finally says.

“I did,” Harry agrees. “But then, so did you.”

Louis smiles, moving closer to Harry before gently taking his hands, as if testing the boundaries of what he can and and can’t do.

“Did you mean it?” Louis asks shyly, and Harry can tell he’s summoning every last bit of courage he has.

Harry responds by leaning forward and pulling him into the most romantic kiss of his life, not caring who’s watching.

“Every word,” he finally whispers before pulling back. Louis looks dazed.

“Zayn’s gonna be so pissed,” he finally murmurs, the mischievous sparkle finally returning to his eyes. “He bet Niall 15 bucks that it’d take us at least another week to get our shit together.”

Harry’s surprised bark of laughter is loud enough that Niall has to politely but firmly ask them to keep it down while other people are performing. They decide to leave instead, their hands linked and both grinning like fools as they walk with no real destination in mind.

Harry just manages to pass his Economics class so he can graduate with the rest of his class. He celebrates by engaging in some serious PDA with Louis in the middle of the quad.

And sure, Harry may not be majoring in a subject he particularly cares about, but if Louis’ shown him anything, it’s that he doesn’t have to be limited by his family’s expectations of him.

So when Harry uses part of his graduation money to buy a new acoustic guitar and a keyboard, Louis’ thrilled. _Especially_ when they discover how amazing his poems sound set to music.

**Author's Note:**

> I finally wrote a coffee shop AU. I hope you liked it and thanks so much for reading!


End file.
